


Bad Ideas

by Fraudgara



Category: Buzzfeed Unsolved, Watcher Entertainment RPF
Genre: 2017 Ryan, Alcohol, Bath Sex, Dirty Talk, Hangover, M/M, Pining, sex on location
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-13
Updated: 2020-04-13
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:13:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23628235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fraudgara/pseuds/Fraudgara
Summary: Shane’s fingers curled tighter so he would stop shaking. Ryan pulled away, drew back slowly, and pushed Shane’s hands back, off his hips gently. “Baaaadidea,” he mumbled, licking his lips and shutting his eyes as he extricated himself. “This is a bad idea.”Ryan didn’t get it, and Shane was left behind in a moment, trying to figure out in a drunken stupor, how best to tell Ryan that those were the ideas Shane liked the most.
Relationships: Ryan Bergara/Shane Madej
Comments: 32
Kudos: 343





	Bad Ideas

**Author's Note:**

> Dedicated to the denizens of the Shyan Book Club Server. I have my tender days but it's y'all who help me bounce back without even knowing it. 
> 
> Special thank you to [loveontherocks](https://archiveofourown.org/users/loveontherocks/pseuds/loveontherocks) for putting on her beta hat and wrestling my grammar into submission.

_2017-_

Shane Madej was immune to peer pressure. He liked to think his drum beat had its own march and that he stuck to it. He’d easily avoided a lot of drama in his younger years, and even better, dodged the whole people-pleasing epidemic that had left most of his generation stricken and chasing validation on empty.

Then he met Ryan Bergara.

Ryan had this power to him. Not the kind that’d have Nick Fury showing up in the after-credits, but more the kind where he smiled an idea up at Shane that was irrevocably idiotic and could never possibly go anywhere, and Shane found himself loping right after him.

Like the day he’d twisted in his desk seat, looking at Shane with a deliberate once-over as if he had reason to take in Shane’s measurements before saying the words, “You wanna do Unsolved with me?”

Shane would only stop being embarrassed at the speed of his reply of, “Sure!” once Ryan started to spin it as a casual exchange when he retold their story.

Because Ryan would have had no way of knowing that Shane had been--hands and temples sweating--on the verge of asking him what he planned to do now that Brent didn’t want in. About to ask him if he needed him _._ To which the answer of ‘no’ already felt like it’d be a car wreck in Shane’s stomach.

So, Shane went from following Ryan up and down the Buzzfeed office to following him clear around the country, sitting quietly in awed incredulity as he learned this tiny, tenacious, fraternity-recovery case with his broad smile and big eyes actually wanted to hunt _ghosts_. He wanted Shane to go with him into dusty old buildings and houses, with ratty lace and probably black mold, and speak to the damn air. He wanted to argue himself sick over theories, and look at his ghost-hunting partner with wide terrified eyes in the dark when his little screaming radio coughed.

But most of all, he wanted Shane to be there.

Thinking about it made Shane do dumb things. One of which was spending three nights in New Orleans, the first of which had them up in the French Quarter during Mardis Gras, with Ryan ordering endless shots of Bourbon that were starting to look like lowballs. They started barhopping and it was far past the limits of when they were in Mexico. It was salty in the new place, smoky with raw drafts of heat and rhythm, and Shane was breathing in everything someone else had gasped out.

Just on crossing the doorway, there was a crush of bodies sliding up against him. Ryan yelled something garbled and joyful as a cluster of feathers and sequins assaulted Shane’s line of vision. There were women and men dressed in gold shorts, thighs glimmering with makeup and sweat as they wound and gyrated on the opposite walls, waving huge garlands of purple and yellow flowers. The music was like knives of thunder, sharp, electric and rumbling with a morbid rhythm like the steady and constant press of two people back and forth, up and down. Shane was bleary-eyed, taking in the sharp sweet scents of the street as people danced beneath the balcony of the bar.

“They’re giving out tequila shots, Shane _!”_

Ryan was flushed in the throng and he kept grabbing Shane’s arm and shoulder, sometimes standing tip-toed to loop an arm around him. Shane felt giddy, and he listened to the slur of Ryan in his ear, mouth so very hot and wonderful near his cheek when he yanked Shane down roughly to meet him halfway. “We gotta do it, man!”

“Ryan, I don’t wanna die at Mardi Gras!” He shouted back, pretty much leaning all of his weight on him.

Shane looked up at the lights scattering in bright revolutions around the room just to get a sense of something logical, but even in that crush, the lights were like a heated representation of the stricken, jumping feeling in his stomach when Ryan’s hot arm snaked around his waist. “I won’t let you die, big guy!”

They were at _that_ point in the night, small developments they wouldn’t be able to recall in the morning; just half-formed sentiments and proclamations of devotion. Friendship that looked softer when your mouth was numb and your best friend’s hands on you felt like waking up at sunrise.

“We gotta do it,” he echoed and Ryan’s mouth opened in a beatific smile; his smile of bad ideas that took Shane to good places.

Soon, Ryan emerged from the crowd with two shot glasses in hand. Shane looked down at his, viscous and oily tequila spilling over its edges onto his knuckles. He was swaying and beginning to feel that twist at the back of his throat that was telling him not to do it. He put his other hand up to steady himself at the wrist. “I can’t drink this straight. I’m gonna boot.”

Ryan cackled, shoulders shirked and crushed between two dancers behind him. “Salt’s right here, baby.” He went first, tipping the salt in too big of a pile on his wrist. His tongue was so deep pink, sliding along the thin skin, and Shane forgot how to blink until Ryan tipped the glass back, and then laughed like something velvet. “Your turn.”

Shane did it, practically stumbled forward, but his grip on Ryan’s wrist was steady, probably because he was gripping so damn hard, white-knuckling the little guy’s forearm in an easy-to-close hold.

“Woah, dude.”

Ryan looked mystified, eyebrows flying up as Shane bent down, and felt the world swing back on its axis around him when his tongue touched what salt remained on Ryan’s pulse. He only drew away to throw back the shot, practically flinging a splash of burning, oaky tequila against the back of his throat.

Shane must have dropped the glass, but he looked instead through a glaze of fairy lights and bar fluorescents at the glimmering black of Ryan’s big ol’ dew drop eyes. There was a dazed moment where Shane thought of apologies, of not even having the mental faculties to explain how much it had made sense to lick Ryan’s wrist only seconds ago.

Ryan burst out laughing. “You big weirdo! Holy crap! We just mixed bourbon and tequila tonight. We’re gonna be so sick--”

“S’bad form to bring up the hangover the night before,” Shane mumbled, and wasn’t sure Ryan heard him.

Ryan leaned back against the banister of the balcony, waving Shane closer listlessly so they were soon tucked away from everyone else. Shane could feel the tickle of vine leaves from the trellis above them, touching around his ears. “What’s that one song?” Ryan chuckled musingly. He began to hum before the lyrics poured out of a murmur. “...mm mm left my _something in somethi--Franciso!”_ He let the vibrato of his voice carry, mixing pitches with the Top 40 track playing indoors, and Shane tried very hard not to keep thinking of how different the tequila smelled on Ryan’s breath.

Shane grimaced. He knew this one. “Tony Bennett,” he replied and watched the creation of Ryan’s breathless elation at Shane starting to sing back. “ _I left my heart in San Francisco._ ”

“That’s _not_ it,” Ryan replied, sloppily whacking Shane in the chest with the back of his hand. “The tune is off, it’s like…I left my _heart_ in Saaan Fraaanciscooo.”

“You mean the Scott McKenzie one. Just _San Francisco,_ Ryan,” Shane murmured. The tequila had made him so hot, and Ryan’s sweaty torso was pressed against his arm on the banister. He didn’t move; instead, he leaned over until he could feel the tips of Ryan’s mess of a haircut touch his chin. It was important that he explain. “Ol’ Scott wasn’t singing about leaving his anything anywhere. He’s just singing about San Francisco and how you gotta wear flowers in your hair. We’re in New Orleans, Ryan...”

“Then I won’t get a flower crown.” Ryan shrugged affably. “Whatever. _Shane left his_ liver _in Neww Orleanss!”_ he sang loud enough in Shane’s ear that a couple passing them below the balcony stopped in their tracks and peered up at them.

Shane laughed hard at that, harder than he would have if he were sober. “You really crowd-sourced hard to get to that bit.”

Why were they standing so close together? Ryan was practically a fixture between his knees, the bottom of his shirt was riding up against Shane’s belt.

“It got me that laugh,” Ryan whispered and he reached up and his finger touched the corner of Shane’s mouth with a light brush and a messy, _hot_ kind of laugh. Their eyes met and for a single, sick moment Shane felt like something fiery and golden had sucked up the bleeding thing in his ribs when Ryan’s nose brushed against his.

And like any bad idea coming out of Ryan’s mouth, Shane ate it right up. From the comfortably strange shape of Ryan against his chest--hard and elastic--to the way it made Shane’s entire blood stream flare up. He waited and pressed, expecting something easier than Ryan shaking in his hands, the burning touch of his hips in Shane’s palms the only thing keeping him centred and real when Ryan’s lips parted, sucking an aching line along Shane’s bottom lip with a wanton sort of delight.

“Fuck,” Ryan said over Shane’s tongue, panting and god, it was so good. Shane’s fingers curled tighter so he would stop shaking. Ryan pulled away, drew back slowly, and pushed Shane’s hands back, off his hips gently. “ _Baaaad_ idea,” he mumbled, licking his lips and shutting his eyes as he extricated himself. “This is a bad idea.”

Ryan didn’t get it, and Shane was left behind in a moment, trying to figure out in a drunken stupor, how best to tell Ryan that those were the ideas Shane liked the most.

When he woke up, Shane had cottonmouth and the distinct feeling that he’d fucked up everything. He had a vague memory of speaking to TJ, telling him something about drink mixing. He also remembered TJ forcing him to down a bottle of water, and Ryan forgetting about him because there was takeout in the airbnb’s kitchen.

He’d passed out on his stomach and in his clothes, one leg off the bed, and there he lay just the same that morning, suffering through each breath as he contemplated the sickening act of getting to his feet.

They had a shoot that day at Dauphine Hotel and Shane wanted to expire.

When he met Ryan downstairs in the living room, he was digging around in his backpack. “I have a feeling I left my shades on Bourbon Street,” he reported without looking up.

The wording of it struck something in Shane’s head, pierced like he’d swallowed something sharp. The sound of Ryan’s singing and the messy wet touch of his mouth before he’d broken away, laughing.

“ _Baaad idea,_ ” he’d said, with that pained look, leaving Shane on the balcony as he stumbled off to look for their friends.

Currently, Ryan’s hair was wet; he was freshly-showered in a grey, long-sleeved tee, and still bent over his bag, and Shane was too hungover to talk about any of it.

“I got a spare pair, if you want.”

Ryan’s head came up and he turned with a sparkling grin. “I don’t want your lame hipster shades.”

He looked open, unbothered. Shane had expected to have to swallow the feeling of burgeoning death in his throat to survive a round of “no homo”, but Ryan looked unchanged and very much like the night before had ended nicely for him.

If they were lucky, neither of them would say anything.

Especially since they were only going with good ideas now.

Speaking of good ideas, it was _Ryan’s_ to set up the entire camera tripod in the bathroom of the Dauphine Orleans Hotel. Ryan had been jovial all day, bouncing back from a rough night like that with the tenacity of a superhuman. He was also really touchy; not in the pissy way, but like he kept forgetting himself and slapping Shane’s back or swiping a hit across Shane’s arm.

They argued about ghosts; Ryan had screamed himself silly waiting for Shane’s lockdown to end as he appeared to be very in tune with the invisible demons/ghosts he felt were teeming their room.

As the day wore on, Shane was getting more and more tired, and somehow less able to clench his teeth every time Ryan so much as brushed against him.

It felt like a blur. Shane toddering along in Ryan’s world, feeling like a grey leftover blob, waiting for the ghost business to be over with, and wanting to relax in what was clearly a better room than they’d managed so far with _a jacuzzi bathtub._

He’d already switched off, ready to get settled in for the night and sleep off whatever it was that wouldn’t stop boiling inside him when Ryan made a joke about Shane staying on his side of the bed.

Then Ryan had an idea and of course Shane said yes.

“...We’re just two guys sitting in a bathtub.”

Shane’s laugh was shaky, acidic with a panic, and he felt like Ryan might hear the false note in it if he stopped laughing. Ryan seemed so unnerving like this in still water, so new, stretched out bare, all hot skin under the steaming water. Shane looked down at the water’s placid wave pushing around his knees. They’d sat in hot tubs before, but there had been bubbles. Shane had never before considered how important bubbles were to his stress levels.

For the record, it was a great bit. The silence of the water between them, the proximity of Ryan’s knees across white ceramic under the steam. When he agreed to get in the tub with Ryan once they realized they couldn’t work the jets, it was only supposed to be for a brief moment, but Shane was drained, the water actually felt good, and it had been Ryan’s idea in the first place…

Ryan didn’t ask about the take, or make any motion whatsoever to get out; instead, he leaned back in the water and Shane could see the stiffness in every single one of Ryan’s extremities unwind. His eyes slid shut, and at some point, Shane was going to be able to stuff this image somewhere in the back of his brain where not his subconscious could reach it to torment him.

“We could fill the tub up a little more at least--” he prompted at Ryan who grinned at him with a joke so terrible, Shane could read the dumb punchline in the curve of Ryan’s lips. He didn’t want to be looking at Ryan’s lips anymore; especially if he intended to get out and dry off, act normally; he was just some guy in a tub with another guy; not some heartsick idiot waiting for the other idiot in the tub to get a bad idea again.

Ryan apparently chose not to finish his joke as he reached back and pulled the lever of the hot water. “I like my baths pretty hot,” he said. “Just saying.”

Shane sighed internally. He wasn’t sure if Ryan wanted to make him mad or if he was just being his usual uncompromising self to mask something else.

“You gonna get out?” Ryan pressed.

Shane unfolded his knees and readjusted so the tap was spilling over his left leg. “Thinkin’ about it.”

“Your hair could use a wash. Did you even shower after last night?”

The camera was still on.

The mention of last night spilled the frown right out of him, and suddenly Shane was not only terrified of the silence it brought up, but of the lance of pain in his ribs when he thought about what kind of person that made Ryan if he remembered last night and had been cruel enough to do this to him.

The tub was practically full, and Ryan was so damnably beautiful under all the golden lights and reflections of cold glass that Shane, in an actual bid to stop looking at him and hating him, bent forward and dunked his face and hair right in the now piping hot water. He was drenched once he came up for air, blistering water running down him, plastering his hair to his head. He looked at Ryan sitting back under the rain of it, blurrily saw the long run of his body reflected from every contour in the fogged-up mirrors, his arms resting just so on the tiled edges. It didn’t work; Shane still hated him.

“You okay there, buddy?”

“No, actually,” Shane snapped, wiping water out of his eyes.

Ryan’s smile was finally gone and he sat up, quietly and reverently. “I was just playing around, man. We don’t have to--if you didn’t want…”

“What are you _talking_ about?” Shane squinted.

Shane was probably breathing in a lot of steam; softening his brain and mixing his thoughts all over the place. How was it Ryan could make a sudden stuttering pronouncement of nonsense like that while looking so hurt?

Shane wondered what the water trailing in long droplets down Ryan’s hips tasted like. He paused, not really able to create the most distinctive words to cover all of what he was looking at. All he could think of was the fact that Ryan looked very flushed under hot steam, and that the very unabashed fervour in his stare was vaguely reminiscent of every fantasy he’d quietly nursed.

“I was just--it's just you and me, and we’re not piss drunk. Last night, things got weird and I figured you--”

“ _You_ said it was a _bad idea_ ,” Shane said slowly, eyeing all four walls of mirrors, making a decided and polite effort not to view the interesting angles these allowed. He wanted to make a joke about the intriguing concept of someone having wall to wall mirrors in their shower aside, at this point, they only really reflected Ryan’s shoulders and arms.

Ryan was quiet. He was still leaning on one arm against the tile, steam rising around the spaces where the water was kissing him. Ryan’s eyebrows turned downward, glaring fiercely under the wet tendrils of his hair. “You didn’t think it was a bad idea?” he demanded. “I was so drunk I could barely stand, and you were worse than me!”

Shane froze. “But you’re not drunk now.”

Ryan’s eyes dropped. Was he actually pouting? “No.”

“And I’m not.”

“I was just trying to flirt with you, but then you made it weird,” Ryan huffed.

Shane couldn’t even hold it back; his new laugh had less acid in it, but it still had a lot of its initial panic, as he stared with a renewed, awed incredulity at Ryan Bergara, whose apparent love language was to torture and bully and rile up the object of his current interest.

Which was Shane.

It was suddenly very simple with Ryan that close and looking absolutely coated in steamy moisture, skin like mahogany. Shane smiled against his better judgement. It was swift, and there was a rush of water spilling over the edges of the wide tub as Ryan’s legs came uncrossed, palm scraping along the outside edges and his other hand coming up under Shane’s jaw as he bent over him.

Shane tipped his head back willingly, already moaning when Ryan brushed his lips with his. He did it like he wanted Shane to be completely still just for a second, wanting to make the touch last each time he nuzzled his lips from under Shane’s bottom lip and upward. Shane would later think they collided like that, him reaching out and Ryan dropping a hand from the bathtub edge to drape his arms over Shane’s shoulders. He was all hot, wet and pliant, with fingers closing on the back of Shane’s neck, and his lips parting just to hover over his, moaning breathlessly at the instant and surprising contact.

Ryan’s back slapped against the other side of the tub and he winced, breathing through his nose when Shane leaned them over and kissed him, _really_ kissed him. Shane savoured the wet slide of them together and Ryan had begun to edge his hips up along his, the sharp angles of his hip bone and his hard cock, dredging a thrilling and perfect slide up Shane.

Shane’s lips parted and the water already had him floating enough that just a slight cant of his hips put him in full contact with Ryan. He was painfully hard, tip of his cock running an undulating line up Ryan’s thigh as he moved over him. Ryan remained pressed against the wall of the tub, working Shane’s tongue into his mouth, slipping one hard muscular thigh under his.

Shane’s hand slid down, feeling heartened, and gripped the curve of Ryan’s ass. He dredged his palm up the naked skin under Ryan’s shorts, squeezing over malleable flesh, somehow more delicious underwater. Ryan arched into it and pushed his hips down into Shane’s hand, letting him know he wanted it, and wanted it now.

They went frantic; skin scraped against the tile as Ryan rocked up against him, pushing Shane back against waves of hot water. Shane’s lips felt a buzzing numbness where Ryan kissed him harder, all teeth and tongue, messy and without thought for air. Shane’s chest kept constricting the way it always did when he stayed too long in a sauna; he kept forgetting to even breathe through his nose. Only this time he could taste Ryan; all his new sharp angles, the press of his cord-like muscles rubbing over Shane’s damp skin in the slickness of the water.

The water was hot enough that it made him slippery already and Shane closed his palm over them both until Ryan was gasping into his mouth, a mixture of breathless and encouraging.

He hauled Ryan in a swift circle, pulling him down to straddle his lap as he settled down against the tub wall. Shane squeezed, rocking up so the head of his dick slipped right down against the cluster of veins under the head of Ryan’s. The contact sparked such instant, brushing deliciousness, and something in the way Ryan twitched against him, eyes going hooded and hazy, had Shane doing it again, pressing his other fingers into the hard muscles of Ryan’s back.

Shane curled his fingers into Ryan’s hips then, a bruising hold as he lapped past Ryan’s lips. His tongue grazed the corner of his mouth, salty, like new perspiration and the familiar close of his lips, sucking Ryan’s tongue in sweet, breathy catches.

The heat of the water and the clouds rising around them blurred the edges of Shane’s vision when they made one frantic form, rocking together. He kept trying to be gentle, but Ryan mewled so wonderfully each time Shane crushed him back against the bath’s ceramic. The both of them were barely in the water anymore, and Ryan tasted fresh and warm under his tongue, not pausing for air. Shane ground his hips desperately, loving the fricative slide of Ryan’s skin, breaking off on a gasp when Ryan threw his head back, and Shane ached for more.

“I just keep thinking of you fucking me,” Ryan swore right into his panting mouth, and Shane had to bite his tongue, hard, to keep from coming right then and there. In all his fantasies, he would never have dared, never even come close...

“Yes, please,” he mumbled.

Ryan rocked, twisting so his one ankle rutted up Shane’s spine, knee to his ribs, and as Shane’s fingers slid down his spine to his tailbone--grabbing him and pulling him in greedily--Ryan’s hand got caught between them. He clutched them both, and nuzzled Shane’s head back, baring his throat.

The way he closed his lips over the tender spots, the jugular vein, he would dip his tongue against these visible veins like he was stabbing him and it only made Ryan arch and grab them tighter, thrusting helplessly. Ryan’s hand came up from its hold on the safe edge of the tub and grasped just below Shane’s nape in a wonderful, painful way. Ryan writhed when his dick pressed into Shane’s palm crushed against his until he was kissing Shane harder, choked spells of moans spilling from the corners of his lips.

“Fuck me,” Ryan begged, mouth just full of Shane, wanting him to lick the words out of him. Their bodies were rolling in slow, underwater speed twists that would never be good enough and Ryan was on this complex verge of coming, tasting Shane’s fingers as they razed over his lips.

“I just want you wet like this,” Shane hissed back with a fluid roll of his hips into Ryan’s hand. “Soaked and clinging to me.” Ryan closed his lips over Shane’s again, but he went very still when Shane’s fingertips slipped a slow circle right over his rim, tickling and promising contact.

Ryan nodded, letting him eat the moans right out of his open mouth the more Shane bit at his lips, making them flushed and red.

The mirrors were foggy, but when Shane grasped Ryan’s arms and propped him against the tile along the edge of the jacuzzi, he was immediately startled at the scintillating sight of Ryan’s whole body; nipples taut, stomach flexing when he moved, fully erect, his mouth all kissed out and wet curls shading his desperate gaze. Shane slipped right up against him, letting the top of his cock rut along Ryan’s crease, and he hungrily dug his teeth lightly on the tense muscles of Ryan’s shoulder. He watched Ryan’s lips part and eyes spark at the abrupt pain.

He pulled Ryan’s hips back and Ryan leaned over to reach something flung over the side of the tub under his bag, withdrawing a tiny tube of lubricant.

“Wow, you...were _really flirting_ with me,” Shane breathed, numbly accepting the tube.

“I’ve thought about it for months, Shane,” Ryan replied with some petulance, looking nervous and gorgeous. His pupils were blown out, excited and waiting. “I practiced on myself--”

“Stop!” Shane almost snapped, his cock twitched against Ryan’s skin and it was like a rising burn inside him. “Don’t...I’ll--if I’m going to last to do this to you, I’m gonna need you to stop talking because god, I really want this.”

“Good,” Ryan sighed, looking at Shane in their reflection. “Shane, please.”

“Think you can balance your knees and lean against the mirror?” He asked off that plea. Sure, he would have wanted to spread Ryan out on the wide bed in the other room, but there was something about this, the two of them already clinging together in all the right delicious spaces and edges.

And there was no way he was passing up this view.

Shane got a strange and special pleasure from watching Ryan’s eyes in their reflection, the draw of his body and every single little change that happened as his fingers dipped in. Ryan’s hands flattened fully against the glass and Shane saw his jaw clench once his fingers thrusted deep, and it was beautiful.

Ryan’s hips rolled backward and his thighs spread at the same time Shane scissored. “Did you leave the camera on on purpose?” Shane whispered, lips pressed to Ryan’s earlobe, secret under the shimmer rush of the water flow. He watched Ryan’s expression flicker with both surprise and want. “You look perfect. I want them to see you like this.”

Ryan’s moan echoed with the swell of his chest, water droplets sliding off his shoulder, and his whole body tensed tighter in his reflection with each time Shane pushed his fingers in.

Shane pulled his fingers out slowly, and Ryan bit his lower lip, looking up at him under his eyelashes. Shane knew that was for him, that Ryan was loving the visual as well. He gripped Ryan’s hips tightly as he eased himself in, hissing against the side of Ryan’s neck, never taking his eyes off them.

“You want them to see you like this too, don’t ya?” Shane asked, thrusting in slow, rocking into tight, perfect wet heat, watching in awe as Ryan’s fingers curled against the mirror. “You’d love it if we kept this recording, and they’d see you with me inside you.”

Ryan gasped, bowing his head as he nodded faintly, pushing his hips back, taking Shane in up to the hilt in a hot swallow of moisture silk. Shane clenched his teeth, mouthing and panting under Ryan’s ear. He reached around and cupped Ryan’s chin with his thumb and forefinger, tipping his head back up.

“Watch with me,” he ordered and Ryan’s irises pooled dark as Shane began to thrust quicker and harder. Ryan mewled again, desperate and pleading, cock twitching. Shane spread his legs to go deeper, shuddering as Ryan clenched. He watched Ryan’s wet, pink lips form words as his fingers curled to fists and Shane fucked him harder. “I want you to see what they’d see if I… got you just… like this.”

“God, Shane,” Ryan sobbed, looking at him worshipfully, rocking with him, mouth going slack.

“You want me to make them wish they could have you like this.” His own gasps against Ryan’s ear started to breathe off as he went faster, and Ryan started to get hotter inside, slick and tighter.

“I’m gonna--” Ryan hissed, dropping a hand to his own cock, fisting tight; he kept his gaze fixed on them both, moaning tremulously when Shane closed his lips on his ear, almost but not quite biting.

Shane rocked right into Ryan’s rhythm, hot steam also like a caress, beating down on them. The bathroom filled with the sound of Ryan’s soft grunts and the crush of skin. Shane loved the reflection of Ryan’s legs going to jelly under him, little pleadings spilling out as he fisted himself faster. Shane didn’t let him look away, kept his hand cupped under Ryan’s chin even as he doubled-up, bouncing forward with the thrust of Shane’s hips.

Shane came like that, feeling it jump up on him when Ryan’s eyes shut and he let out an uncontrollable groan, the head of his cock, slipping through his fingers under the beat of water, ejaculate splattering against the tile.

Shane could hardly catch his breath, nuzzling against Ryan’s nape, kissing lethargically as Ryan panted up against the glass, a small, exhausted, but pleased curve on the corner of his lips.

“Knew this would be a good idea,” Ryan sighed happily.

_2019 -_

Shane wheeled his computer chair backward, shutting his laptop on the email from corporate with their fourth rejection to Shane’s proposal to assemble the animation team for his second season of Ruining History. He looked over at Ryan who was sprawled out on their couch, tapping away on his phone to someone. Even as he felt a swirling sense of loss drawing bets with his psyche over how long it’d be before he went back to just pushing listicles and experimental articles, Ryan was still there; all the more of a vision of his home in shorts and a thick fleece hoodie, legs up against the wall.

Almost like strange clockwork, Ryan sighed and began, “Hey, Shane?”

Shane went still; it was strange to be caught in a reverie with his gaze fixed on Ryan, but Ryan hadn’t looked up yet. “Yeah?”

“There’s something I’ve been meaning to...to talk to you about.” He looked up then, and his wide eyes were gleaming an event horizon, quiet nerves as Shane frowned.

“What’s happening?” he asked, still locked in the icy injury of the rejection letter on his computer.

Ryan kicked his socked feet off the wall and twisted around to get to his feet. He smiled tentatively. “This is gonna sound so crazy and if you hate it, we’re not doing it. I refuse to make it happen unless it’s with you, but…”

Shane watched as Ryan’s expression warmed; excitable and smiling a very familiar smile.

“I have an idea…”

Shane felt the smile on his own face grow as Ryan began to speak, erratic and bright; comfortable in Shane’s view because, after two and a half years with him and three more years before that following him all over the place, Shane was the most willing convert to Ryan’s best ideas.


End file.
